


Hierarchy

by AventuriereSideral



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, Character Study, Drug Use, Episode Related, Humiliation, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Power Play, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Incest, Verbal Humiliation, developments in cage theory!!!, this is actually a little bit soft if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26717185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AventuriereSideral/pseuds/AventuriereSideral
Summary: Maybe he was, like, psychologically trained to be like that. Maybe it's not his fault he's a fucking freak. Probably. Definitely.
Relationships: Kendall Roy/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	Hierarchy

**Author's Note:**

> So, I finished watching 1x08 Prague and went absolutely insane over the whole cage business —holy shit I have so much to say about it, listen, he even kind of references it at the beginning of the episode, listen LISTEN—, decided Roman definitely had some kind of humiliation kink, started writing this, and then I kept watching and it turned out yeah, he totally does. I don't think I've ever written something this long in such a feverish state, I don't know what the hell happened or how. All I know is I love this show with my entire heart and soul, and Roman Roy lives rent-free in my head.  
> I hope this is enjoyable for someone other than me!

There's two dogs fighting over a bone on the sidewalk.

Roman watches them through the car window while they're stopped at a light, vaguely intrigued by the potential of violence.

The bigger of the dogs is growling menacingly while pulling the bone away from the other one, who looks a lot scrawnier and is trying and failing to retain its position. The struggle is chilling in its brutality, even if the dogs aren't even going at each other yet. Roman looks on, unable to tear his eyes away.

The scene reminds him of something. Some lost memory, simultaneously familiar and near-forgotten. Something that hides in the back of his mind.

He can't seem to figure it out what it is, so he looks at the dogs, mesmerized, trying to search through his memories for something that resembles this in some way or another. They never had a dog growing up— he doesn't even like dogs all that much. For a second, he thinks maybe he's remembering a movie, or some fight he might've had back in military school... But then the bigger dog manages to take a bite at the other one's side, steal the bone and leave, and the losing dog whimpers, and Roman suddenly remembers,

Oh, right. That.

He feels a manic sort of laughter bubble forth from somewhere deep within his chest: could that seriously have happened? The cage's cold bars, the dog food's off-putting shade of brown, his brother calling his name and laughing. He's not making it up, right? Kendall did use to lock him in a cage and feed him dog food when he was a toddler, right?

That seems unbelievably fucked up, even for their family, but Roman remembers it. Is he the only one who does, or is everyone else just walking around with the knowledge that that happened, acting as if it's no big deal? Objectively it's, like, beyond awful. CPS worthy, even. It is, right? He's not insane.

It doesn't feel that way, though. There's a warm feeling accompanying the images, something akin to yearning, and that freaks him out more than the memory itself did. He can't be so irredeemably fucked in the head that he feels nostalgic for a time when he used to be regularly tortured by his older brother.

He looks away.

Seriously, what the fuck.

—

Roman’s relationship with power has never been straight forward.

He likes power, he likes it rather a lot, he likes the rush it gives him, the feeling he gets from being above people. The certainty of being able to make most everyone bend to his every will is exhilarating. Even if he seldom exerts it as wildly as he likes to imagine himself doing; power is in the possibility, isn't it? He doesn't need to demonstrate it to know he has it. And it feels good to be powerful.

At the same time, while raised to be conscious of the power he holds, he's always felt rather power _less_. It's evident that he commands little respect, even among people who are supposed to be his subordinates. And that's, perhaps, an issue of hierarchy. Because at the end of the day, all the power he holds stems from the group he belongs to, and in that group he's definitely at the bottom of the fucking chain.

Doesn't feel great.

In truth, he doesn't even want to rebel. He's not like Kendall, he doesn't fight against the system they live within. He's willing to deal with the ugly part as long as the nice part is secured. And he doesn't even think he'd enjoy having power over _everyone_. That sounds tiring.

Sometimes… in some contexts… it can be kind of nice to be ordered around.

—

He had the dream again.

He lies on his bed, looking at the shadows the light's making on the ceiling —it's always pristine, he never expects it not to be, but he still wonders sometimes if it could be anything but—, trying to find the will to get up, shower, get dressed. Doesn't seem like it'll happen anytime soon.

It's been a week since he saw the dogs, and he hasn't been able to stop thinking about the cage. In a way it's metaphorical: his brother arresting his ability to grow, forcing him down on a subservient role, something like that. He can't decide if it does mean something, if there was a reason why it happened or why it's swimming around in his head. There's something dark in the back of his brain that doesn't let him think about it too much.

The memory is still disjointed and awkward, not a fully fleshed-out moment but rather a bunch of clumsily put-together little images, like when you're in a club and the lights flicker in and out and the movements seem jerky and intermittent, or like a shitty indie film where they couldn't get enough footage and are trying too hard to make symbolism out of the closeups. Still, the bars, the food, the voice.

He keeps dreaming about it. It's always him as an adult, crawling into a cage, constricted and uncomfortable, and Kendall coaxing him into it, ordering him into it. He would have to describe them as nightmares, but there's also an undeniable sense of contentedness, like he's doing something _right_. Sometimes the dream continues further, gets progressively more fucked up, but also more thrilling. He usually wakes up feeling a little bit turned on and a lot gross.

Not like it's the first time he has weirdly sexual dreams about Kendall specifically, but somehow the whole cage business makes it worse, if that's even possible.

Dreams don't _mean_ anything, he knows, they're just your brain using bits and pieces of your life and thoughts and manipulating them into something more or less narratively sensible to keep you busy while you sleep. And he's had weirder ones, for sure, dreams about death and blood and sex, or all at once. He doesn't usually pay them much attention.

This is not like that at all. His fingers twitch while he counts to a hundred, trying to will his boner away.

—

Roman fidgets in his seat and bites his thumb absent-mindedly while he waits for Kendall to answer. The phone rings twice, three, four times. Finally, he hears the click of the call being picked up.

“Hey, fuckface, how’s it going?” he says, not wasting any time. There’s really no reason to think Kendall would hang up on him, considering he answered in the first place, but he hasn’t seen him in a month and every text so far had gone unanswered, even when Roman tried really hard to get a rise out of him by way of increasingly personal insults.

Maybe Kendall _is_ upset with him, but he doesn't think that's the case. Like, yeah, he fucked him over with the vote, fine, but that was ages ago and they saw each other at Dad’s phony therapy thing after that, and he didn’t seem particularly mad at him then, so he supposes everything is fine between them; water under the bridge and all that.

Although Kendall was probably high out of his mind at the time, and really drunk, so anything's possible.

“Yo,” Kendall says. Not very encouraging. Roman swallows, expectant, but his brother offers him nothing.

“Well. Ok, then,” he says, after a beat. “Uh, listen. We’re doing Tom’s bachelor party in a couple of weeks, I guess. I don't know why the fuck he asked me to organize it, but he did, so I guess it's my job now to call everyone and tell them, which is just awesome; not like I'm busy with other stuff. Anyway, it’s in Prague. You should… you should come.” And he waits. He’s hurting the skin around his thumb enough to be drawing a bit of blood. It’s not like he’s nervous. He’s just uncertain.

“Uh, yeah. I guess I’ll be there,” Kendall says, not enthusiastically but seemingly not exasperated either. He rather sounds distracted, which is annoying. It’s just common courtesy to pay attention when someone's talking to you, never mind the fact that he himself has never followed this particular piece of etiquette.

“Awesome, I’ll uh… I’ll send you the deets. See you there, then,” he says, and hangs up before Kendall can.

He feels the taste of copper. His thumb looks like a fucking warzone.

—

“How’s Kendall doing?” Stewy asks. Roman stops on his tracks.

“Oh, he’s blowing you off too?” He hasn't been able to reach Kendall at all since the phone conversation.

He won’t say it hurts because it doesn’t, not really, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. Beyond the fact that he's always felt weirdly dejected when Kendall refuses to pay attention to him —he doesn’t know why, he hates that he feels that way, it makes him feel out of control, easily manipulated, and again he thinks of that stupid cage thing—, he clearly wasn’t doing so hot last time he’d seen him. Can’t blame a guy for being a bit worried about his drug addict brother smoking cheap meth with a bunch of mole men in the middle of the desert.

He _is_ a little bit relieved to find that Kendall is not ignoring him personally, but rather the world in general. Either way, supposedly he’ll see him in Prague. There’s no guarantee that he’ll show, of course, but Roman's optimistic. He tells Stewy as much.

“Hey, let me tell you something, dude: Fuck Prague.”

Roman looks up from his phone. Stewy’s going on about Rhomboid. There’s no way in fucking hell that’s even an option for Tom’s bachelor party.

But then he says Sandy Furness will be there —there at the sex party, gross old dude Sandy Furness will be at the weird-ass burlesque-adjacent kinky sex party, and Roman’s mind is going places he does not want it to go, he can’t help it, he has no control over it—, and wouldn’t it be interesting if Roman went too, got him to sell?

Stewy’s face is making him sick, his little smug smirk, the wide eyes, the slightly raised eyebrow, the perfectly trimmed beard. Roman knows he’s trying to manipulate him, he’s not stupid, but he cannot avoid the weird flip his stomach makes when he hears “number one son”. Wouldn’t that be wonderful. To get something his dad never even thought he could, to rise way above expectations, prove to everyone that he can do it too, he can play the fucking game, that he deserves the praise and respect he's never gotten.

Yeah, ok, whatever, he’s in.

“One more thing: bring Kendall, ok? I need to patch things up with him,” Stewy says, and then leaves.

Kendall. It’s always Kendall, isn’t it? Roman doesn’t get it. He’s thrown everything away twice already, what does everyone want with him? Kendall’s probably ODing in a ditch somewhere surrounded by meth heads.

Or not, all right, ok, he knows he’s not. He knows he’s been working with Frank, or whatever, and yeah, maybe he doesn’t wanna think too hard about that because he does feel a little guilty about the whole thing— he gets the other belly-feeling, the unpleasant one, the one he has when his dad glares at him like he’s a misbehaving dog.

Maybe Stewy’s being sincere about wanting to “patch things up”, or whatever. Roman at least got to see Kendall after stabbing him in the back, doesn’t seem like nipple-ring had that same privilege.

He personally doesn’t regret it, anyway, fucking him. Kendall took a gamble and it didn’t go how he wanted it to, and if he then decided to get high on whatever and crash their publicity-stunt-therapy-bullshit, that was his own choice too. Roman didn’t make him do that. No one made him do that.

Maybe Dad, a little, but blaming Dad for their issues is such an obvious choice it almost seems pointless, like— what, out of everything that’s fucked up about them, is not Dad’s fault one way or another?

The things that are Mom's fault, exactly.

—

Cancelling Prague is easy, considering he barely bothered arranging anything in the first place. Making sure Kendall shows up might be harder.

The thing is on Saturday.

On Wednesday he decides to send him a text, just to confirm, and writes and re-writes it a dozen times before finally settling for “do I count you in for Saturday, then? Tell me now so I don’t waste money on your sorry ass." Kendall replies three hours later with a “Yeah, k.” Which is fine. As much of a response as he could hope for.

Maybe Kendall will get to see him negotiate with Furness, and wouldn’t that be satisfying? Oh, he’ll go crazy, “what is he doing here, what were you talking to him about”, he’s certain. But Roman won’t say anything. He’ll smirk and say something like “wouldn’t _you_ like to know?” and leave, and Kendall's just gonna stand there, gaping. And after business is done, Roman’s gonna ditch the whole group and have sex with as many freaky people in bowler hats as possible and that’ll be his celebration.

He does wonder if Kendall will be fine around the drugs and the alcohol. This isn't what he agreed to, and he might be… let's say overwhelmed, if he is trying to not fall back into old habits.

Then again, maybe he's not. Maybe he already accepted being back on coke, or discovered he liked meth so much he was gonna keep doing it. Roman doesn't like that idea at all, doesn’t like remembering how it was when Kendall was on rehab, or worse, when he was out of it. And he is worried, y'know, he's not, like, heartless, he cares about his brother as much as their fucked up upbringing allows him to care about someone —a lot, he cares a lot, he cares a lot about Kendall and about Shiv, even about Connor, isn't that embarrassing? Isn't it terrible that he wants them to be ok, that he'd like them all to be ok? So he tries not to, to care a normal amount, which he thinks is supposed to be "barely"—.

This is important, though. He'll make sure Kendall's fine and if he goes too crazy around people snorting lines then he'll arrange something so he doesn't have to be near those people, and there will be no carrying his brother half-conscious and covered in vomit, hot to the touch and slightly trembling. None of that.

Thursday is slow. There's not much to do, really, or rather there's not much he'd like to do. As usual there's about a hundred e-mails per fucking minute but they're out of their minds if they think he's gonna check them. He has better things to do, like stare out of the window and smile at his empire. It cost a couple of corpses to get it, but there it is, the whole city at his hand. Could he have more? Sure. And he will, he's certain of that. If not because Logan finally sees his worth, then because Roman manages to metaphorically (or literally, you never know) kill him and take his place. Like Kendall tried to do but, y'know, successfully. He'll break out of the fucking cage and become top dog. He laughs a little to himself, an awkward, unstable sound.

Friday he's bouncing off the walls. There's no reason to be as excited as he is, not really, but the possibilities have his mind racing. He hasn't told anyone, he knows triumph will taste sweeter and failure less bitter if he keeps this down, but he's dying to make the deal. He can't help but fantasize about how well things might go if he manages to use the bachelor party for his sister's sad excuse of a floormat to secure an actually worthwhile deal, impress his dad, prove everyone wrong, make Kendall look like a loser.

God, he's a little bit hard just from thinking about it.

It's a wasted day, as most days are, and he just sits at his desk, alternating between pretending to work and looking at the ceiling. Before leaving the office for the day he sends everyone a text with the location where they're supposed to be picked up from and tells them to be there at 5 p.m.

And then it's Saturday and it's finally time to get the show going. Roman gets to the "pick up point" fairly early, and he makes the chauffer wait in the car while everyone else starts arriving.

Tom seems rather confused about the whole thing as soon as he gets there, which he supposes is normal. Anyone with over three braincells might be able to guess that there's no way they're going to Prague right now, but Rome has long accepted that his entourage for the day is composed of idiots. He doesn't say anything to ease their confusion, just assures them that everything will be made clear. Meanwhile, they wait for Kendall.

Roman's not sure what exactly it is he's feeling. It's not unprecedented for them to go some time without seeing each other, a month isn't really all that long, but Kendall's lack of communication is always worrying considering past experiences. He knows he's most likely ok, but a small part of him won't believe it until he sees him. And he's late, so he has the right to feel a bit irritated too. What could he possibly be doing, anyway? It's not like he has responsibilities or anything, he doesn't have a real job. The only logical conclusion is he lost track of time while snorting powder.

Or maybe there are other logical conclusions, but Roman thinks he knows his brother well enough to make an educated guess.

When Kendall finally arrives, he can't stop the light accusation from falling from his lips. His brother just gives him a smile and that half-assed one-armed hug he's seen him give his college buddies.

Roman hates that. He hates the fact that Kendall doesn't even look bad, that he has that infuriating air of smug relaxation people have when they're just coming back from a long vacation. He hates the smile, open and relaxed, warm, holding no resentment, as if he did find his complaint amusing. As if everything was fine, nothing had ever happened. No plan to commit parricide, no backstabbing, no drug bender at cactus house and no metaphorical spitting in Dad's face. Most of all, he hates the fucking hug-and-a-clap he gets, impersonal and too close all at once. He feels the strange urge to go for it and hug him back, all in, see what happens; make their bodies align, bury his fingers on his back with enough force to hurt, maybe even kiss his cheek. That always shakes him up. But that's not the kind of shaken he's going for, so he lets Kendall get distracted by Cousin Giraffe's super awkward attempt at a greeting and doesn't think about biting down on his neck.

He doesn't know why he's so affected. It's all the energy bouncing within him, he guesses.

He tries to keep cool and confident while he leads the way down the tunnel, even though he hasn't actually been there before. He does have the directions clear in his head; he knows where he's supposed to be going. And either way everyone is so confused they probably wouldn't even notice if he missed the door and had to walk them all back to it.

Kendall catches up to him. Roman resists the urge to sigh: he's the only one there who could see through his act. But then again, Roman too can read his brother like a book, and he must say, he's gotta call bullshit on Kendall's whole laid-back, successful thing. What he's talking about, his business or whatever, it sounds more like a consolation price, like he knows he lost and he's compensating by trying to convince everyone he's Better Off, Actually. He doesn't buy it.

It probably sucks to be him right now. Yeah, sure, Roman's being "carried around in Dad's pocket", but it's just a waiting game. The old man will die eventually, and with Kendall metaphorically dead and Tom being about as smart as a fucking lemming —Roman thinks if Shiv was a dude neither him nor Kendall would stand a chance, but luckily for them she isn't, so she's clearly out of the fucking question, of course—, no doubt he's gonna be the successor. Which is all he ever wanted, right? He'll be the sole source of power. Absolutely no one above him. He's way more excited than he should be.

—

Is this cool? He guesses it's cool. Not really the kind of thing he'd usually be into, which is fine; he's not here to have fun, he's here to do business, and isn't that hilarious. He doesn't see wrinkly-balls anywhere, but he's sure Stewy will lead him to the guy eventually.

In the meantime, Tom and Greg are raising some concerns he doesn't have the time nor the patience to really address. This isn't an orgy, it's a… cultural venue, where sex might happen. Which is how it generally is with artsy pricks; they hang out at dirty warehouses with bad lighting, play some noise, get high on whatever they can get their hands on, and then group fuck. Or at least that's been his experience. But it's not an orgy primarily because he did _not_ show up to an orgy with his two brothers, his future brother-in-law, and his cousin to talk acquisitions with his dad's business enemy. So it's just… a party where the possibility of sex is implied, that's all.

Anything could happen, he thinks, and immediately swallows that thought down, because not anything, and certainly not whatever came to mind.

"It's a fucking sandpit for emergent behavior," he says, still, and let's his brain rest on that concept instead of whatever else it might come up with. Any "behavior" that might "emerge" would almost certainly be a terrible idea to indulge in, anyway; Roman is familiar enough with his Id to know that. And he has a job to do, so he'll keep it chill. He'll have one tequila shot —lines them up in front of him, thanks the bartender while Connor rambles about his sleep schedule—, maybe a glass of something to calm down the anxiety before Stewy takes him to Sandy. And then he'll improvise. It'll go fine.

But then he sees Stewy, and Stewy is with Kendall, and he doesn't know where they're going. His eyes follow them, he tries not to make it too obvious. There's not necessarily anything suspicious about it. Maybe they're fucking. Roman would believe it, if it weren't for how difficult it is to imagine his brother fucking another dude while sober. Maybe he has trouble imagining it because he's been trying very hard not to, lately. He won't go down that road.

Connor is still talking. Roman takes the shot, grabs a glass of whiskey, and excuses himself, following the two.

They're going somewhere more private, but he suspects it's not to fuck, because if that were the case then clearly the room they're walking into is not private enough. Or maybe they're into the whole exhibitionist thing the party seems to encourage, and for a second he wonders how fucked would it be if he stayed and watched, but he censors that thought as soon as it crosses his mind, and he's right to do so because his initial hunch was, of course, correct: there's Furness.

God fucking damn it.

Roman isn't dumb. This was Stewy's plan all along, clearly, get him to get Kendall for Furness. Fine. Doesn't mean _he_ can't be there as well; doesn't mean _he_ can't make a deal.

He waits until Stewy leaves and then slowly approaches, leaving his drink on a table. He's not sure what he's about to do, his body is on autopilot. He cuts in on the conversation.

The fact that Kendall looks so fucking uncomfortable to see him there pretty much confirms he was doing something shady, which is not a surprise at all because, really, when is he not? He attempts to engage Sandy, but Kendall's trying to cockblock him, doing his best to make him look childish and irrational, and it's infuriating that he thinks he has any right to talk to him like that, but he tries not to let it get to him and insists, in the hopes that Kendall will eventually get fed up with it and leave.

Roman's undeniably getting a kick out of whatever it is that's happening, though. Out of Kendall watching him like he wants to wrap his hands around his neck and squeeze. He wants more of that. Less of the dismissal, more of the anger.

And also, hopefully, for him to fuck right off.

But then his brother says, "you're embarrassing yourself", and Sandy says, "you're family", and Roman feels something inside of him snap.

"He used to lock me in a cage."

The silence barely lasts a second. He doesn't know what makes him angrier, the fact that Kendall's pretending not to remember, or that they're having this conversation here —and he promised himself he would never bring it up if no one else did—, when he could be closing a sweet deal with Furness, instead.

Sandy is visibly uncomfortable. He better be; Roman's baring his traumatized little soul here, the least he could get is a few shocked looks for it. But Kendall is still looking at him like he's insane, and when Sandy finally leaves —and isn't that amazing, Kendall ruining everything for him _again_ , and fine, that's them then, they just ruin each other, whatever, he'll betray him as many times as it's necessary to prove to the fucking universe that he deserves to be where he is and that Kendall doesn't— his brother is still pretending none of that happened, that it's just some disturbing little scenario Roman came up with, and not the undeniable reality of their messed up childhood.

"I never made you eat dog food," Kendall says, and that's just typical, a Roy specialty, making problems disappear with the power of the mind. But Roman won't let him get away with it. He remembers.

"There was a bowl that was filled with chow and I couldn't leave the cage until I finished it," he says. He _knows_. He hasn't been able to stop thinking about it for weeks, since he saw that stupid dog on the street and was suddenly flooded with weird dark memories he didn't want to think about. He didn't mean to bring it up but it's right there, and someplace in his brain it's not only the short lived joy he might get from seeing Kendall squirm, seeing him confront how fucked up everything was, but also the small bit of him that wants him to confirm it. If Kendall confirms that it happened, he'll rest easier, he thinks, because it won't turn out to be some grotesque scenario his brain came up with to justify his weird need to be told what to do or the desperate hard-on he might have for his brother; then it means this isn't his fault, this isn't him being a disturbing little weirdo, it's their childhood being fucking deranged, and Kendall being an asshole and ruining his head forever, probably.

"It was a game," Kendall replies. Roman wants to slap him. And then, "you enjoyed it." His heart is beating so loudly he can physically feel it hammering against his ribs, like it's gonna burst at any moment.

"I _enjoyed_ being in a cage with a leash around my neck?" he says, incredulous. He got the confirmation and it was rendered meaningless in the same fucking breath. Sure it was a game, yeah, a game where you pushed your four-year-old brother to stay in a fucking dog cage and eat fucking dog food like a disgusting little animal. Kendall's arguing with him, and Roman is furious, but there's nothing to do but get out. He needs to exit this situation as soon as possible, because there is no possible action to take that wouldn't be embarrassing or disastrous or both, and he wants to _scream_.

He leaves fuming. 

—

This is more of what the party was promising, but he's really not in the mood to enjoy it. The lights are blinding him a little bit, he can smell puke mixed with perfume and a whole lot of alcohol. He needs to find Connor before he goes fucking insane. There's sweaty, warm bodies all around him, he's already seen a couple of people just going at it, and in different circumstances he might've stopped and watched, sure, but right now he needs to talk to his other brother, the stupid one who actually did not abuse him as a child. Kind, dumb Connor.

It's hard to find him- everything is dark, and the warehouse looks like his own memories, jagged and flickering. He can barely see what's in front of him. He feels weirdly out of it, which is annoying because he didn't drink more than a shot and measure of whiskey to avoid exactly that. But finally he finds him sitting with a couple of chicks, talking about God-knows-what, some of the crap he's always talking about; a pyramid scheme disguised as business opportunity, or badly thought-through, savage neoliberalism.

He wastes no time.

"Sure, I remember that game you used to play," Connor answers, and Roman is so ecstatic to get confirmation that he barely even notices the wording. He's halfway through giving him his thanks and leaving when Connor adds "No, you liked it! You asked to be put in that cage!".

What.

"What," he blanks. He _asked_ to be put in the cage? Does Connor have literal brain damage? Why on Earth would he ask to be put in a cage? He knows— he thinks— he's pretty sure he wasn't _born_ fucked in the head, that it was Mommy and Daddy's fault, and apparently Kendall's a little. He wasn't weird before all that, they _made_ him weird with shit like the fucking dog pound. He wasn't asking to be put on a cage when he was four fucking years of age. He's not going to take the blame for his family abusing the shit out of him when he was a defenseless little goblin. He hasn't spent weeks going over it, dreaming about it constantly, to get a "you liked it". He didn't like it. He didn't ask for it. He didn't ask to eat fucking dog food.

"It was chocolate cake, I think," Connor says, and that's the last fucking straw.

"No! Kendall locked me in a cage, I went weird, I started wetting the bed, and _that's_ why Dad sent me away to St. Andrews." He feels a little bit faint, like he's actually hallucinating. And Connor says the worst thing he could possibly say then: "Dad sent you to military school because you asked to go."

He asked to go.

Did he ask to go? He did not ask to go.

Either his whole family is insane, or he's losing his mind. He wasn't that young when his father sent him to St. Andrews. There's no way he's misremembering this. 

—

The rest of the party is something between a blur and a bore. He walks around a bit, drinks a little, but not too much; he's still waiting for Stewy to make good on his promise and finally get him Sandy. But he can't think about much, he's absent, some mix of angry, indignant, and a little horny.

Mostly he's frustrated. He doesn't believe Connor one bit; it's impossible for it to have been that way. Kendall says it was a game because he's a fucking asshole, but it wasn't a game. Fuck them.

He runs into Tom. There's a sex pile, and Tom's looking at it very emphatically. Roman can't find it in him to be interested.

"What's good, Wambsgams?" he says, unenthusiastically.

"Hey, Rome! Just… just looking at the…" Tom clears his throat, embarrassed "What time is it, like 3 a.m., right? I've been here so long I forget. I ran into Greg a little bit ago, he's… uh, he's being doing a bit of the ol' cocaine." He laughs uncomfortably. "He said he was just trying to avoid Kendall snorting it, but I think he was into it."

"Kendall's been doing coke? Today?" Roman's not even surprised.

"Yeah, I think Greg said he'd done about four lines," Tom says. Roman doesn't know if he's looking forward to getting on the car with Kendall later on, if that's the case. He makes him uncomfortable when he's on coke. He doesn't know how he would react tonight to his brother's coke persona; intense, laser-focused, bossy. He swallows.

Tom is rambling on and on about the possibility of having sex today. Roman can't fucking see him. His mind is elsewhere and he's ashamed, in a bones-deep way he very rarely is. Maybe that state of feeling shows through when he tells him not to pre-rationalize:

"You get off, you eat the shame for dessert." Right now, he would want for nothing more than to jump headfirst into a terrible decision and then feel like crap about it tomorrow. It takes all his strength not to.

Pretty much the only thing keeping him sane at the moment is the prospect of finally, _finally_ getting to talk to fucking Sandy Furness, like he was promised he would, and get to go home without feeling like he wasted the entire night. As he watches Tom approach that hot tall blonde, he decides it's either doing something about it, or going completely mad, and then they will for sure find him tomorrow sleeping in a dog pound somewhere with his face covered in come like some kind of furry Mia Khalifa. No, he won't allow that; he's so fucking angry and so fucking horny, and it's all mixing in this big ball of energy he needs to focus _somewhere_.

He goes looking for Stewy; he's either getting that meeting with Sandy or smashing Stewy's fucking brain in, no other possible scenarios. He's still thinking about the cage, about being subdued, and also about the opposite, about succeeding, breaking through. He'll get it.

—

Maybe for the first time in the entire night, Roman can say he actually feels pretty good. Still a little bit damp and uncomfortable, but so goddamn fulfilled: he did what he meant to do. He didn't even embarrass himself, he was serious, professional. Something might come out of it, he could potentially have something to bring over to Dad.

There's your fucking cage.

He even bumps into the hot chick Tom was talking to, chats with her for a bit. Roman instantly likes her; her name's Tabitha, and on top of being hot she's fucking hilarious. He hears some truly delightful details about what she and the groom-to-be were up to, finds out she's a business coach, buys her a drink. He gets her number, 'cause why not, right?

When he sees Kendall in the elevator he almost laughs. It's like the universe is giving him the chance to gloat, even if it's while his brother is very probably intoxicated. He runs to get to it before the door closes, unsure if he wants to do it right now or leave it for later, when he might get a better reaction. And yeah, perhaps he should be cautious of what he says, just in case, since his brother is always capable of ruining everything for him, but it couldn't hurt to brag a little… just for a chance at seeing Kendall's confused/surprised face. It's one of his favorites, he looks fucking stupid like that.

When he sneaks in a look, trying to assess the best course of action, he finds Kendall staring straight at him. His eyes are dark, his mouth is inexpressive.

Roman feels a shiver go through him.

He's used to this kind of stuff; he can deal with it. He goes for a smirk. Kendall's not having it, which is expected. He wonders if he's still high; or rather he wonders how high he is, because he doubts Greg could stop him from doing more lines even if he snorted the entire warehouse.

Kendall doesn't look particularly out of it, though. He can feel his stare like a stab in the cheek, even if he looks away. The elevator is going awfully slow. It feels like they're there for hours, even if Roman knows it's barely a minute. He knows the most important part is not to react like it affects him, but it does. Maybe it's some unconscious urge to give in, although that doesn't sound right. Maybe he was always supposed to be under Kendall's command, per his father's design, and that's the meaning of the dog pound. Maybe there's no way to actually escape the cage.

Or maybe he's been thinking about the whole cage thing way too much. Strong possibility.

He feels his neck starting to get hot, his throat drying. The moment is still there. He has the feeling that if he breathes in too deep, some part of Kendall will enter him, and the idea scares him. He wants him as far away as possible.

His heart is beating loudly, blood rushing to his ears even as he tries to keep a calm façade. He wiggles a little, hoping his discomfort won't become noticeable. Kendall is still looking at him straight in the eye. Roman tries to deflect, with little success. When the elevator door finally opens, he tries for nonchalance as he gets out, but Kendall shoulders past him, pushing him against the door and—

Fuck. Fuck, this is the cage. This fucking elevator. Did Kendall do that on purpose? Is he going crazy? He's probably overthinking this, but it doesn't entirely feel like he is, rather it feels purposeful and significant, like his brother meant for this to happen, like he was trying to convey a very clear message, and the message is you're _not_ top dog, you will _never_ be top dog, you're the weak link and you'll do as you're told, and you'll beg to be put in the fucking cage and eat your fucking chocolate cake.

He's very disappointed in himself when he realizes he's achingly hard. 

—

It's kind of undeniable that the whole cage thing is about power. Some might say _everything_ is about power, which, yeah, that's not entirely untrue. Every single relationship he has certainly is, in some way or another, although it would be ridiculous to say that's all there is to it. There's other things, even if he gets stumbly and anxious when he thinks about them too hard, as if his thoughts could be heard. Vulnerability is alright as long as everyone knows it's a joke; if he's not saying it out loud then he's not joking, and he'd rather no one heard him think soft, squishy things, even if they cross his mind pretty often.

He can't say he remembers the cage all that well. If Connor and Kendall are right, then he can barely say he remembers at all. But he supposes it had to be about power, about control. Some kind of training, perhaps. For himself, to submit; for Kendall, to lead; for everyone to learn their place in the savage wolf pack that's their family. Roman has no illusions of being anything other than the weakest of the litter in that regard (maybe not if they're counting Connor, but when are they?).

He can't deny something about letting someone else call the shots feels _good_. It's not just laziness, rather a deep feeling of satisfaction from doing exactly what you're supposed to. It makes him feel fucking disgusting.

He doesn't want to go all Lacan on it, 'cause that's bullshit anyway, and any of the dozens of therapists he's gone through could come up with something that fucking flat, but… yeah, maybe it's the cage. Maybe he was, like, psychologically trained to be like that. Maybe it's not his fault he's a fucking freak. Probably. Definitely. 

—

No one speaks a word in the car. Cousin Greg is hyperventilating a little, staring straight ahead. Roman stifles a laugh. To be fair Greg's probably snorted more coke tonight than Roman has in his entire life, and he's way richer.

Connor had seemed to be in a good mood, but he'd gotten off the car with barely two or three words to spare for them. Tom, on the other hand, looks crestfallen, which is ridiculous, considering. He definitely doesn't know how to appreciate the finer things in life.

And Kendall is silent and serious, and the car is big but they're still pressed together, and Roman can't deny he's uncomfortable. On some level he understands this is his brother trying to establish dominance in an extra weird way, probably because he's high. That doesn't help his hard-on, nor the way his leg is twitching anxiously. He's not _scared_ of Kendall, you'd be pressed to find someone less scary than Kendall, who he's seen in such vulnerable, weak states that there's no universe in which he'd be intimidated by him. But there's still a reflex within him to give in, even when he's really upset about it, when he wishes he could look Kendall straight in the eye and tell him to fuck off, instead of sitting there trying to control the giant boner he has over his brother's intense stare and commanding voice and—

_Jesus Christ, freak, get a fucking grip. Are you gonna start humping his leg or something? God._

He can't help it. He hates it. He hates himself.

He hates himself all the way to his apartment, and he hates himself when he gets into bed and fights the urge to jack off, and he hates himself when he gives in and does it anyway. Mostly he hates himself when he comes all over his hand after three pathetic little strokes.

He does not think about it. He goes to sleep and does not think about it.

—

Roman does manage to mostly avoid thinking about it. Sure, every once in a while something reminds him, and he feels a surge of anger and then a wave of shame, but he's gotten really good at repressing that, so he just takes a breath, thinks about something else, and poof, it's gone.

Surprisingly his brain doesn't even try to find new ways to torture him with thoughts and feelings it'd be impossible to express externally without having to immediately slice his own throat; he was afraid his dreams would get progressively more incestuous, or he'd end up accidentally saying some very incriminating stuff (which wouldn't be all that new, by the way. People think he's just careless, but he does _try_ to filter his words every once in a while, it's just his mouth refuses to cooperate). But no, he's not noticeably any more of a freak than usual, and he more or less forgets all about it.

He concentrates on overseeing the rocket launch —which is going awesome, if he may say so himself—, texts hot-blonde-Tabitha every once in a while —he hasn't gotten bored with her at all, she's fun, refreshing—, hangs out with Shiv more often than he'd like —or than he'd like to admit he likes.

Roman's not a huge fan of Shiv's future husband —it's unthinkable that Shiv could get married, but at the same time it's the only move that makes sense for her—, so he's always a little hesitant to ask her to come over for a couple drinks, just in case she shows up with him. But he gets the impression Shiv's not a huge fan of Tom either, so she never does show up with him, and it works out well for the both of them. Roman doesn't have to deal with his empty apartment, Shiv doesn't have to confront the fact that there's a black hole where her heart should be.

"So, you're definitely fucking Dad, then," Roman says, drinking a sip of whiskey, hiding his smile behind the glass. Shiv does that little enigmatic eyebrow-raise she thinks is so mysterious. Roman knows her way too well for it to intrigue him: it just means 'yeah, ask me about it'. "Just for the record, if he asks, I don't approve of this, and I think you're a disgusting little traitor and a… what was it he called you? A coward?"

Shiv laughs a little, but there's something in her eyes, something emotional and uncomfortable. Roman decidedly wants nothing to do with that. It's not really the kind of relationship they have. It's not really the kind of relationship he thinks any of them could have with anyone. The only one soft enough to still seek something like that, setting himself up for disillusionment again and again, is Kendall. Roman wouldn't dare, he's way too scared of vulnerability, and Shiv is too smart to even let herself have feelings at all, is by far the best of them at swallowing every uncomfortable emotion down. That's probably why she's Logan's favorite, 'cause she's a fucking psychopath.

"I think it's going well. I genuinely believe Gil can become president." Roman smiles, mockingly "What? I do."

"Sure you do," he says, and laughs around another gulp of whiskey. Shiv is laughing too.

"And what are you up to? Kendall told me Dad has you overseeing the Japan launch?" she asks, getting more comfortable on the couch.

"He does! He does." He sets down the glass, sitting back and putting his knees against his chest "and it's going great!" he realizes a second after saying it that he doesn't sound too convincing. But it is, it is going well. So well he considered it could be possible to move it up so it coincides with Shiv's wedding. As a gift of sorts.

They're quiet for a moment. Maybe Shiv doesn't want to call him out on his bullshit. Although that has literally never happened, and she's not even smiling, she's frowning a little and looking at the bottom of the glass as if deep in thought, her hand playing with a little piece of paper she rolled into a ball. Probably jealous that he gets to do something cool and important for Dad while she's betraying him in favor of that faux-commie cuck.

"So, um…" he begins, unsure of where he's going. His mouth takes care of it before his brain can catch up "So, you've talked to Ken?"

Shiv looks up, startled, coming back to the present.

"Uh, yeah, couple times. He seems to be doing fine," she says. Who knows, that might even be true. Not that Roman's worried or anything.

"He did like four lines at Tom's bachelor party the other day," he says, as if commenting on the weather. He's not sure if he's talked to Shiv about that already. She saw him at Connor's place, fucked up on meth and booze and God knows what else, so it's not like she doesn't know Kendall's back on his bullshit, but he can't remember if they broached the subject.

Shiv nods slowly, not looking at him. Roman doesn't know how to take that.

"How's Wambsgans, anyways? Are you already regretting the decision to marry him? I'm sure he pisses himself from excitement every time he remembers."

"Why are you asking me? You see him every day," Shiv says, rolling her eyes. Roman doesn't exactly understand why they're together. Shiv's way too good for him (not that he'd ever tell his sister that), and he has trouble seeing what he brings to the relationship, considering he's kind of braindead, and also not rich. But he seems pretty malleable, eager to please, which Roman supposes would be appealing to someone like Shiv.

"Just trying to make small talk. You know I don't actually give a shit," he says.

It's always hard to talk to people, but it's harder to talk to people in his family. There was a time, when the three of them were a lot younger, when they could hang out and smoke pot, and sometimes some things would come out. He remembers those moments very fondly, because, even if he doesn't usually think about it in that way, he does love his cocksucker of a brother and his piece-of-shit sister, and the three of them understand each other in an intuitive way he doesn't think anyone else ever could. And he remembers some of the things he'd heard them say, some of the things he dared to tell them. He wonders if they remember, if they still feel those same embarrassing things they felt when they were teenagers, if Shiv's still insecure about her chin, if Kendall still has anxiety attacks. It humanized them. Roman wonders, sometimes, if the three of them are actually human.

"Do you think Kendall is ok? Honestly," Shiv says, out of nowhere. She's looking very intently at the little paper ball she made, turning it around. The conversation is going slowly, as if they were chewing their words, swallowing the ones they're not willing to say.

"Sure," is the only answer he deigns giving. He wants to ask 'why' but he doesn't think he wants to know what's worrying Shiv that much. Or rather, he already knows, and doesn't want to give the thought a place. He was never one for reassurance.

They care about each other, all three of them, in their own ways, even if they don't like to admit it. It's perhaps easier for Kendall, since he's the eldest and it's kind of expected of him. Shiv could get away with it if she wanted, pass it off as womanly concern, but she'd never allow herself to fulfill that role, and it'd be dishonest if she tried, because she doesn't love that way, she loves with violence, scornful and savage. And Roman, well, he… he's just not supposed to care about anything at all, is he? That's his own role. He's not terribly good at it.

He's never been able to fully understand the way Siobhan cares about Kendall. It's raw, a little depressing, something angry and protective that probably wasn't there before Kendall went to rehab. Roman doesn't feel that way. He doesn't feel like it's his place to give a shit about Kendall, rather the other way around. Kendall is supposed to worry about what a shit he is, order him around, try to get him in line. And Roman has to push back, compete, and gets a sick sort of satisfaction from seeing him fail. The consequences of that failure, he doesn't like as much. He doesn't like seeing Kendall defeated and deflated any more than he likes to see him cocky and cool.

Maybe nothing would satisfy him. Maybe Kendall is always going to be an issue. He doesn't even know what he wants.

"Hey, Shiv… do you remember the dog pound? When we were growing up?" Why does he keep trying to talk about this? It's like if he manages to understand what the hell that was, then everything else that doesn't make sense in his life will fall into place. Which is a ridiculous thought, but nevertheless one he can't let go of. Shiv barks a laugh.

"Not really." Right. Shiv would've been way too young. "It was that game you and Ken used to play, right? You were his dog?" She's very clearly making fun of him, but she schools her face to look less like a smile and more like a concerned frown. Roman's already sorry he brought it up.

"I wasn't his _dog_ , asshole. It's not fucking funny, he used to lock me in a fucking cage!" But Shiv does break out laughing at that.

"That's not how I heard it," she says, crossing her arms, but then her laughter dies down and she's just smiling a little impishly, and he loves Shiv when she's like that, young and quick-witted. "Yeah, I mean, not gonna lie, it sounds pretty fucked up. What is it, did he traumatize you?"

"Yes, I'm fucking traumatized!" he says, trying to walk the line between playful exaggeration and sincere distress. He doesn't even know what he thinks about this anymore. When he remembered it he was furious, because it made sense, because it explained a lot, and because Kendall was a fucking asshole. And that fury became righteous, made him want to prove to everyone that's not who he was, that he wouldn't be caged down, metaphorically or otherwise. And then… he's not sure anymore. "Do you really think it was a game? Or like Boar On The Floor is a 'game'?"

"Connor's probably the one to ask, I guess," Shiv says. Roman groans.

"I already asked Connor."

"Did you, now?" She's full on grinning now. She leans forward on the couch.

"Yeah, he said I asked for it, or some other rape-y bullshit, which is stupid because I was four fucking years old, and certainly couldn't consent to BDSM puppy-play." Shiv snorts, throws the little paper ball at him, leans back down.

"You're disgusting," she says. "I don't know. From my understanding, you really liked doing that. I do have some recollection of you asking Ken to cage you. My guess would be that you were really into it."

"Fuck you." Shiv puts her hands up like she's surrendering, still smiling, then picks up her glass and sips.

"Why do you ask, anyway?" she asks, after swallowing. Roman shrugs.

"I remembered the other day and haven't been able to stop thinking about it." He feels honest today, which is… unusual. But, y'know, it's Shiv. Untrustworthy and an asshole, but his sister. "It seemed a lot darker in my memory than what everyone is telling me it was, so either I have selective amnesia or everyone in this fucking family is gaslighting me."

"Honestly, I think it's probably one of those fucked up things that's only fucked up in retrospect," Shiv says, and doesn't add anything else.

When she leaves a couple of hours later, he's feeling relaxed in a way he hasn't in weeks, almost boneless. It felt good to talk to her. Good thing he didn't mention jacking off thinking about Kendall ordering him around. That'd probably be too fucked even for his family. 

—

The Japan launch is going great. There's no news on Sandy Furness, but that's ok, he still had something to take home, even if it was underwhelming. Shiv's wedding is still a month and a half away, and Roman is starting to get a little bit anxious about it, even if he thinks Siobhan saying "I do" will be a hilarious sight and he absolutely needs to be there to witness it.

He'd been talking to Tabitha quite a lot, hanging out every once in a while. She's fun to be around, but she's also way too smart for her own good. She _gets_ people, has an ability for it he doesn't think he'll ever acquire. He doesn't know what they are, exactly, which tends to be a problem for him, but she doesn't seem to mind. She listens, but doesn't ask, and what else could you want, really?

He asks her to go to the wedding with him, and she says yes, so that's guaranteed to be a comforting presence. It's going to be fun to have a witness to the insanity close-by, and Roman's looking forward to snarky comments and champagne.

What he's not looking forward to is seeing Kendall, and, most of all, their mom. It's definitely going to suck, and probably going to scar him, like any good conversation with their mother tends to do. But he's an adult and shit, and he can handle it, as he can handle his junkie brother whose cock he apparently wants to suck— not going down that road.

He tries not to think too much about the inevitability of the whole thing and limits himself to doing his job— or just fucking around, if he's being honest. He succeeds, mostly. Every once in a while there's an unpleasant thought, or a wave of nausea, or his heart starts beating a bit too fast, but he's handling it ok. He gets some news about Kendall, mostly from Shiv, who's always been better at keeping up, and is careful not to mention him to Logan, even when he thinks it might benefit him by way of negative comparison.

So, really, it's a shame that two months after Tom's bachelor party, when he's still not done mentally preparing to see him, Kendall decides to show up at his house uninvited, with a bottle of bourbon and that stupid hyper-focused look in his eyes.

If Roman didn't know any better, he'd say he was apologizing for something.

"To what do I owe the honor?" he says, opening the door. He kind of wishes he had live-in domestic service like Kendall does, so he could do the whole 'not home right now' schtick. Mostly to get back at him, petty stuff, but also because hanging out with him alone makes him uncomfortable. Alas, he doesn't think he'll ever have that; he doesn't like the idea of someone else living in his house.

"Just dropping by," Kendall says, and pushes past him. Roman scoffs, but lets him, maintains the illusion that he could've stopped him if he so wished. He already doesn't like where this is going. He closes the door and follows his brother, clearing his throat and placing his hands on his hips while he watches Kendall look through the cabinets, presumably looking for a glass.

"They're right there." He points to the wooden display cabinet in the corner of the living room where he keeps the liquor and some of the fancy glassware. Kendall grunts and nods, then takes the glasses, places them on the counter, opens the bottle.

Roman doesn't find the idea of getting drunk with his brother very appealing at the moment.

"Are you planning on staying here long, or…?" he asks, irritated. His brother holds up his palm, signaling him to wait. His other hand is busy pouring the whiskey in the glasses. Roman drops his arms to his sides, annoyed and nervous. He has no idea what's going to happen but there is no way it's going to be good. He doesn't want to sit down while Kendall's standing, afraid it'll leave him in a vulnerable position, so he waits in place.

Kendall finishes serving, grabs both glasses, hands him one, which Roman takes reluctantly, and sits down on the couch, in what's usually Roman's spot. He decides not to say anything about it and takes the loveseat that's adjacent to it, diagonally from him, the glass coffee table in front of the both of them. Kendall takes out his phone and gives it a quick look.

"So?"

"I don't know," Kendall says, putting his phone down. His voice is hoarse. "Honestly, I was high, and wondering what was up with you, and I just kinda… went out, bought this," he points to the bottle, "and came here. Now that I'm coming down, I'm thinking I might regret it." Amazing. Roman shakes his head slowly, eyebrows raised.

"Well… alright," he says, finally, and sighs. He wonders if he should drink or if that's a terrible idea too. On one hand, he's not sure if lowering his guard like that would be wise. On the other, he doesn't know if he'll be able to get through whatever's happening sober. _Fuck it_. He drinks two big gulps and sets the glass down. Kendall's looking at him like he's a little proud. Roman hates how electrified that makes him feel. "Seen Shiv lately?" he asks, just to say something.

"Not really, but we talk. Y'know. Traitor alliance." Roman smiles in spite of himself.

"Isn't it insane that she's getting married? I can't believe she's getting married," he muses.

"As long as _you're_ not getting married the universe still makes sense to me," Kendall says, face as serious as a funeral.

"Fuck you, I could totally get married."

"Sure," Kendall says, while picking his phone back up. He has a hint of a smile on his face, and Roman is instantly reminded of Shiv. They're all so awful, why are they all so awful? Is it Logan's fault? Connor is awful in such a different way.

"Fuck you," he repeats. Kendall doesn't say anything, swishes the whiskey around in the glass. He's making this whole situation very boring, but also very tense. Roman keeps waiting for something to happen and nothing does, so he's on the edge of his seat, not willing to relax just in case he needs to be paying close attention.

Kendall seems distracted, but also uncertain, like he's about to say something but keeps changing his mind at the last second. He opens his mouth and inhales, but then when the words are supposed to come out, he just closes it suddenly and drinks. He picks up his phone, again.

"Hey, asshole, can you stop that? Are you here to steal my wi-fi?" Kendall actually looks a little bit startled at that, which is gratifying. He clears his throat and finally puts his phone away. Roman can see he has trouble trying not to look at it. "You waiting for a call or something?" his brother looks uncomfortable. He shakes his head.

"No, not really," he says, and then sighs and takes a little bag from his pocket. Roman rolls his eyes.

"Seriously?"

"What?"

"Seriously. Why are you here?" but Kendall just shrugs, carefully pouring the blow on the coffee table. Roman kind of wants to stop him, but he also doesn't give enough of a shit to do so. Kendall divides it into two lines, takes a little metal straw from his pocket and smiles up at him —it makes his throat dry— before snorting. He sniffles and hands him the straw. "No, thanks."

"Come on."

He takes the straw but makes no movement towards the powder. Kendall waits, a little fidgety, and finally sighs and snatches the straw back, doing the line himself.

"Pussy."

Roman shrugs, unbothered. He's never liked cocaine, plain and simple. He's not gonna be _bullied_ into it like it's some shitty 80s PSA and Kendall's a senior offering him blow at the school bathroom.

Kendall smiles, then, without a care in the world. Roman is already dreading this. He's so much more of a cocky piece of shit when he's high.

"That's more like it."

"Yeah. Congratulations," Roman says, dry. He gets up, glass in his right hand, left hand on his hip. He walks to the counter. He doesn't want to look at Kendall. He's still on edge, still anxious, but now he's even more annoyed than he was before. He was hoping he'd just see Kendall at Shiv's wedding, in a controlled environment, and then he'd forget all about everything and it'd be done. As it is, he's uncomfortable; somewhere between angry and horny, which seems to be the norm now around his brother. Kendall's smiling that secretive, confident smile, his eyes follow him as he walks around the room, and Rome feels _inadequate_ , out of place and exposed, which his piece of shit body seems to find quite exciting.

"What have you been up to, huh? Haven't seen you since Tom's bachelor party."

"This and that. Launch's going good, so that's pretty cool." Kendall has the audacity to look confused at that, and Roman wants to fucking strangle him with his bare hands. "The launch? The satellite launch in Japan?" he sees the twinkle of recognition in his brother's eyes. Well, that's good.

"Ah, yeah, yeah. That's cool, man, congrats." And he even sounds a little sincere. Roman is immediately suspicious. He drinks. On top of everything, he's starting to feel the effects of the alcohol, even if just slightly. His brain will be floating in liquid in no time if he keeps drinking. _In for a penny…_ he thinks, and pours himself another glass.

"So, not on your plans to tell me why you came over, then? Should I give up?" Kendall shrugs, a smile quickly crossing his face and disappearing.

"I don't know, man, it's just… I told you already."

"You were high and thought it seemed like a good idea to come fuck with me?"

"Sure."

"Cool. No, yeah, that's fine. Cool. Not like I had plans or anything…"

"Did you?" Kendall smiles fully now, knowingly. Roman won't dignify that with an answer.

"I could just kick you out, y'know? Thank you very much for the bourbon, much appreciated, now fuck off." Kendall doesn't lose the smile.

"You won't, though," he says, and finishes his drink, looks at the ceiling. "I know you, Rome. Whether you like it or not. You're transparent."

Roman swallows.

"Am I? Tell me, then, oh, great one, you… holy master of divine knowledge, explain myself to me, 'cause I don't get why I didn't just shut the door when I saw your dumb fucking face on the other side." He's genuinely irritated, and already a little drunk, and he can't shake the feeling he made a misstep at some point in the conversation. Maybe what's most upsetting is the fact that Kendall doesn't actually know what the fuck he's talking about. He doesn't get it, he doesn't get _him_ , which is simultaneously infuriating and such a relief.

"You love me," he says. It doesn't sound like he's joking. It's not incorrect, but it's also not very impressive knowledge.

"So? I love Connor, too." That feels disgusting to say. Kendall barks a laugh, like that's absolutely hilarious. His gaze is stuck on the ceiling, hands crossed above his stomach.

"You're not afraid of Connor."

"I- I'm sorry, are you actually suggesting I'm afraid of you? That's fascinating. Tell me more, Scary Freud." Roman wants to wipe Kendall's smile out of his fucking face. His hands are gripping the counter with so much force his knuckles are going white, and yet he doesn't feel the kind of unstoppable rage he'd like to be feeling, just an uncomfortable sense of anticipation mixed in with a little bit of shame in the pit of his stomach.

Kendall looks directly at him.

"I've been thinking about what you said. About the dog pound," he says, and he laughs again, quietly, a fond, nostalgic sound. Roman grunts and looks away. "I swear you liked it. If I had any way to prove it to you, I would. But maybe it did fuck you up, y'know? Maybe Dad came up with it as a way to… establish dominance or something weird like that." He looks deep in thought as he stares at his hand on his thigh and moves his fingers slowly. "Connor said… you punish the weak dog, and then everyone knows their place, and everyone's happy. But you're not happy with your place, are you?"

"What the fuck are you talking about."

"I mean, it was just a game and we were kids, but maybe at some deep… psychological level… it was teaching you where you stood on the hierarchy."

"Go fuck yourself."

"I'm being serious."

"I'm being serious too. Go fuck yourself." Kendall has the nerve to laugh again. Roman loosens his grip on the counter and tries to calm himself. His brother is trying to rile him up, playing mind games or something. He came up to his apartment all weirdly apologetic and then he got over whatever was up with him and now he's just sitting there, insulting him in his own fucking home.

"All I meant to say is that I understand why you're worked up over it. It's… about power." He knows exactly what he means because he's thought about it too, and he'd rather die a painful death than hear what else Kendall has to say about it. He wants him to shut up so badly. Good luck getting Kendall to shut up while on coke, though. The high shouldn't last that long, anyway; unless he has another baggie with him, that should be it— he should start coming down soon and then Roman's gonna get him up and out of his fucking house.

"About power," he repeats.

"Yeah."

"Alright, Foucault."

"You've been raised as a contradiction. We all were. But you, uh… more." Roman's so done with the whole thing. He's so tired of talking about the cage, about power, about their weird childhood, about control. He's tired of thinking about it. He's more than a little drunk, all he wants is to jerk off and go to sleep and wake up blissfully amnesiac, with Kendall nowhere in sight. He's not asking for much.

But Kendall is still high and still cocky, and Roman never gets what he wants. His brother looks at him thoughtfully.

"If I told you to do something, would you?" He sounds grave. He leaves his relaxed position and sits facing him, his hands still crossed, his elbows on his knees, like he's about to give him a business proposition.

"No."

"You would."

"No, I wouldn't. Fuck you." He doesn't know, actually. He's a little bit afraid. Not of Kendall, but of himself. He swallows.

"I don't have anything in mind, anyway." Kendall says, breaking up the eye contact, and rubs his mouth. After a second he looks up again. "Sit down, come on." Roman rolls his eyes, walks back to the couch and very emphatically does not sit, staring at his brother. Kendall huffs a laugh and stands as well. "Sit down, Rome."

Who the fuck does Kendall think he is? Roman frowns and crosses his arms.

"Fuck you."

"Is that your only comeback?"

"'Is that your only comeback?'" he repeats, mockingly. Kendall puts his hand on Roman's shoulder. Roman stiffens. "Stop that."

"Sit down."

"Jesus fuck, you're such an asshole!" Roman says and finally sits, if only to get away from Kendall's warm hand. His brother smiles down at him and goes back to his seat.

"I genuinely believe that at some level you can't help it," he says, and that's the last straw.

"What the fuck are you talking about! I'm not your fucking dog, cocksucker, I'm not fucking trained to do what you tell me to."

"You are a bit of a dog, though." Kendall says, and takes out his phone again. Roman gets up, grabs it from him and throws it away. "Yo, what the fuck."

"Stop that! Why did you come over here, weirdo! What is this, are you— are you trying to prove something? Seeing how much you can get me to 'obey your commands'? You're not gonna get very far." Roman wants to tears his skin out. This is not generally how he reacts, he's not usually this forward, but Kendall's being such a huge fucking asshole, and he's furious but also by now more than a little hard, and Kendall is so close, looking up at him but still managing to look in control.

"Fucking— Get me my phone back, Roman."

"Stop using that annoying fucking patronizing voice on me, fuck's sake! You're such a loser."

"Look who's talking."

"What are you, ten? Do you realize how fucking _pitiful_ you are?"

There's a cold fire behind Kendall's eyes that Roman isn't sure he's ever seen before. He's seen his brother angry plenty of times, but this looks different, it looks dangerous. He's not afraid, though. He's expectant.

"You haven't done a single thing right in your entire life, Rome. Everyone around you thinks you're hopeless. I can assure you every single person you've ever come in contact with knows that you're undeserving of everything you have. The only reason you're where you are is because you're a Roy, and I'm sure Dad would love to give you the boot even then, because you're more trouble than you're worth."

Kendall doesn't _sound_ upset. Roman has a hard time believing he means what he's saying, but the sting is still there. He swallows. There's a lot he could say in answer to that, like how Kendall seems unable to not throw his entire life away every couple months, how he's as silver-spooned as he is and yet he can't even make that work for him, but the words won't come out. He takes a step back and adjusts his legs.

"You know this. You know you're an irredeemable waste of space." Kendall says, and Roman won't pretend that doesn't hurt (or rather, he absolutely will), but mostly what he feels is a shock of _heat_ , electricity coursing through his body.

"Shut up." That's probably the last thing he's gonna be able to articulate. He sits down. This is ridiculous. He crosses his legs and puts his hands in his pockets. Kendall rises an eyebrow at him.

"That's it? 'shut up'?" Roman presses his legs together but says nothing. Kendall leans his head barely to his right and looks at the unmistakable bulge in his pants, frowning. "Are you hard right now?"

Well, this is mortifying. Roman makes a strangled sound and closes his eyes for a second. He can't move. There is no escape, there is literally nothing he can do to get out of this situation. For a second he harbors the hope that this is another one of those fucked up dreams he'd been having, but it feels too real. He feels faint, wants to blame the alcohol but it's probably all the blood rushing directly to his dick.

Kendall looks at him, without making a sound. Maybe he's on the comedown. He looks intrigued, if a little confused.

"You're fucking pathetic, do you know that?" Kendall says, low. His voice sounds completely different, like he can't believe this is happening, like he can't believe he's saying those words in this context. Roman almost whimpers. He keeps his eyes alert. "Is this what you're into? Jesus Christ."

Roman feels the oxygen in the room starting to grow thin. Outwardly he's still unable to move; his whole body is vibrating. His dick is achingly hard, his pants feel tight, his shirt is making him way too warm. Little beads of sweat have started forming in the back of his neck.

"Is it that I'm your brother or is it that I'm telling you what a revolting little rat you are? Because both of those are pretty fucked up." Kendall still looks like he's not the one controlling the words that are coming out of his mouth. Roman stares, manages to swallow. There's no way he can answer that question. "Look at you. Has it always been like this? Do you usually get hard when I tell you you're a useless piece of shit? I think I'd have noticed."

"You didn't." Roman can't help but say. He doesn't know why he says it, doesn't even know if he's trying to lie or to be truthful, isn't able to tell anymore what's a lie and what's true. Kendall lets out a startled laugh and Roman grimaces. He wants to touch himself and at the same time that sounds like the worst idea in the universe.

"I'll keep that in mind."

He feels entirely powerless. He concentrates very hard, uncrosses his legs. This is a game, like everything is a game, and he can't succumb to letting Kendall make the decisions. He's not a losing dog, he's not supposed to—

"Go on, touch yourself. I can tell you're dying to.

And Roman wouldn’t usually be shy, but this is Kendall, which makes the entire situation completely alien, and so deeply humiliating. Kendall telling him he's disgusting, instructing him to touch himself, and he can't say this hasn't ever been a fantasy, can't say he hasn't gotten off on the idea of Kendall staring at him with sharp disappointment and saying "you're a failure", can't put into words how hard he came after the first time that image crossed his mind. This can't be happening.

His pulse is quickening, he's short on breath, but he has to keep his cool, because Kendall has, and Roman certainly won't be the first to lose it, he'll win this, whatever "this" is. He doesn't know if winning entails him following the orders or rejecting them, can't decide on a course of action. His brain is swimming in goo, he _thinks_ he's supposed to refuse but he doesn't think he's in full control of his body; it feels like losing, but he can't help it, he can't help his hand going down his pants and gripping his cock.

Kendall sucks in a breath, and it's barely audible but Roman's sure he didn't imagine it; it's exciting and terrifying, letting his brother tell him what to do with his cock, dangerous but exhilarating, like skydiving, maybe like dying. Maybe there just isn't anything comparable to what's happening, because there's no single thing as powerfully earth-shattering as whatever it is they're doing right now. Kendall isn't hard, not even a little bit, but Roman doesn't care; right now he's even kind of into it, into how embarrassing the whole thing is: that he's hard, that he obeyed, that he wants Ken to be soft because it means he's not even worth that, and right now knowing that is enough to make him shiver.

He's way too horny to be able to form coherent thoughts, but he's also too panicked to stop his mind from trying to. Getting his hand on his dick and pumping is fucking heavenly, and Kendall isn't talking anymore but he's looking at him very intently and breathing a little hard, or so Roman thinks. It's hard to tell when he has trouble hearing anything that isn't his own blood pumping. He doesn't know if it's worse to be making eye-contact, but he genuinely cannot look away, and Kendall doesn't seem to be able to either.

This wasn't ever supposed to happen, he thinks, and what if everyone found out somehow, what if Kendall told everyone what a freak Roman was, and everyone knew about this, about Roman wanting this, dreaming of something like this happening possibly for years; this is so deeply fucked up, he's not sure he'd even be brave enough to bring it up in therapy, he's going to die with this memory burned in his brain, buried hot inside his mouth, only for him and Kendall to know, and they will never ever talk about it, so it'll disappear in the sea of memories he remembers, or doesn't, or doesn't want to remember—

He moans, a breathy, long, shameful sound, he almost chokes on it, his eyes are still firmly locked on Kendall's. And then he thinks he sees something like disgust mixed with arousal in Kendall's glossy gaze, and he opens his eyes wide and comes harder than ever before in his life.

He thinks he blacks out for a couple seconds.

When he comes back to himself Kendall is standing and his face is blank, almost artificially so, as if he had schooled all his factions to show no emotion. Kendall's always been very good at that.

Roman still has his dick in his fucking hand when Kendall clears his throat, grabs his coat, and leaves. 

—

Three weeks later, the wedding is closing in, and Roman is dreading seeing his brother even more than he's dreading everything else about it, even more than he was dreading it before.

He's not as lucky stopping himself from thinking as he was last time, which makes sense, since this was considerably worse than last time. He can't think about anything else. It's like a fever dream, and it keeps coming back to him, awake or asleep.

"Are you alright?" Tabitha asks him one night, while they're lying in bed and Roman's looking at the ceiling —pristine, so white— and biting his thumb. He thinks about telling her, but there's no way he possibly could.

"Yeah," he lies. He feels as if everything that happened from that moment on was a hallucination. Maybe he died from embarrassment, or from a heart attack, and now this is the afterlife of torture he always knew he had coming.

"You're thinking very loudly," she says, but she's not even looking at him. He stops his nervous biting.

"No, I'm not." Tabitha shrugs, looking uninterested. Roman's not sure if that helps or not. "Hey, you _are_ coming to England with me, right?"

"Yeah, I said I was," she says, and it's simple, really. Roman likes her so much. Wonders if maybe he should spend the rest of his life with her.

"Great." 

—

When the day comes, Roman's there early. He has the pleasure of dealing with his mom with Tabitha as his only support. She's good, though, pretty good, better than he expected, having no training at all.

Caroline still manages to fit three or four really deep-cutting comments in the ten minutes it takes everyone else to arrive.

And there's Kendall, and Roman very emphatically doesn't look at him. And Tabitha is a lifesaver, because Tom's here too, so Roman can concentrate on fucking with him not-so-subtly, enjoy how much it's definitely working. Tom looks confused and a little scared, and that's exactly how Roman wants his future brother-in-law to look like when marrying his sister. He hides his smile in Tabs' shoulder, forgets for a second about everything else that he'd been trying to forget for months now.

Finally, Kendall acknowledges him. Roman barks at him. And if there's a spark of recognition, some heat in Kendall's eyes, it's almost imperceptible.

Roman'll get over it, eventually. Probably.

**Author's Note:**

> haha im dying. anyways english is not my first language so, like, sorry if there's any mistakes?  
> I might eventually post some other things I've been thinking about related to this show, it's completely taken over my life.  
> you can come talk to me at @lareinadelplata at tumblr if u want!! or clubdelclan i guess


End file.
